


Winner

by yeaka



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:41:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Goten gives Trunks an opportunity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winner

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Ball or any of its offshoots or contents, and I'm not making any money off this.
> 
> A/N: This is a remix of the extremely old story, 'Winner Takes All,' from my ancient FFN account.

It isn’t over until the sky’s dark and all the stars are out, and my final punch knocks him to the ground like a ragdoll. I stop mid-flight after him; he’s powered down and just... lying there.

I land next to him, hair back to purple and fists unclenched. He rolls over onto his back with a groan, rubbing the dirt off his forehead. The ground’s cracked all around him, but we’re in the middle of nowhere anyway. That’s how you spar—away from everyone else. We aren’t normal. Goten’s been dodging my punches since dinner, and it’s hours later and our mothers are probably wondering where we are.

We don’t care. We can fight all night like our fathers do, and I don a smile at winning.

Goten grumbles, “Can we stop now?” My grin twists into a bit of a smirk—I kneel down to sit beside him.

“You’re getting soft on me!” I tease, reaching over to rake a hand through his hair. He wrinkles his nose and grins at the touch but doesn’t turn away. We fight so much that our hands on each other isn’t anything new, and I’m more than grateful for it. I can get away with sweeping the dark strands out of his eyes, stroking through to the back to pet him like a dog. He breathes out deeply: relaxed under my touch.

I try not to smile too much at how cute he is, but the adoration’s probably stretched across my face enough already. I don’t really fight him anymore to _win_ , so much as just to touch him. To watch him. To have that time alone with him: to fill that spot in his life that no one else can. We’re a perfect match, and fighting with one another isn’t like with anyone else. I’m use to winning everything I start (except with my father, of course), but it isn’t about that pride with Goten. It’s just about Goten. Tilting his face into my hand, Goten mumbles, “Am not. ...We just went a little too long on that one. It’s been _hours._ “ And he groans as though that’s unusual for us, even though it isn’t. I could spend all night out here with him.

Before I start gushing my heart out, I draw my hand away—Goten’s eyes reopen to blink after it. I’m sitting close enough that my legs are brushing his sides. His muscles stretch his shirt too tight, and there are rips everywhere showing tantalizing glimpses of skin. My hand doesn’t quite retreat all the way. It rests on his shoulder as I ask, “Are you hungry?”

When is a Son ever _not_ hungry? Goten grins instantly, moving to sit up—my hand falls away. “I’m starved!” After a second, he adds, looking at me with his gorgeous dark eyes and brilliant wide smile, “You always make me so hungry, Trunks.”

I gulp and don’t say anything. He stands up first, brushing off his pants, and offers me a hand. I take it, even though I don’t need it. I don’t let go of it when I’m standing, both of us still slightly panting from the fight, shimmering in sweat and our hair a mess. I wait for him to power up and take off first, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he chirps, “So, what do you want for your prize?”

I blink at him. “What?”

“You forgot already?” Goten laughs. “Oy, and you call me dense. Remember, we said whoever stopped first was the loser and has to grant the winner a wish? Er, within our power, of course. Like, don’t ask for a ton of money because you know I don’t have it.” Looking slightly sheepish, he rubs the back of his head. It’s a habit he picked up from his father, I think. “I stopped first, so... what’s your wish? Want me to buy you lunch or something?”

My mouth goes a little dry. I completely forgot about that and didn’t really think it through. Usually when we play for stakes, he won’t stop—he always wants me to buy him lunch. I don’t at all mind, so I usually just let him. I don’t need the same.

There is something I want from him, of course. I just want _him_ , but that isn’t exactly a fair prize. I don’t want to ruin our friendship, and he looks so incredibly innocent standing there, smiling so happily at me, silhouetted in the starlight. But the opportunity’s almost too good to pass up. For a moment, I just wonder—how long can I keep this in, anyway?

I wonder which of us is _really_ faster. Like, if one of us (me) had to fly for our lives... is there any way I can get away with this?

Before my brain’s fully decided, my stupid mouth says, “Close your eyes and stand still for a bit.”

Goten looks taken aback, wondering, “What, why?”

“Just do it,” I insist, before I lose my nerve.

“That’s an odd wish. ...You’re not going to punch me out, are you?”

“Chibi,” I grumble, reaching out despite myself to pat his arms down at his sides, pulling him straight. “Just stand here like this, and don’t move until I’m done. That’s what I want for my wish, okay? Just do it.”

He shrugs. He looks at me with a double-edged expression—confusion and implicit trust. He closes his eyes. I study him for half a second—he looks too handsome to be real.

Then I suck in my nerves and lean in to kiss him. I’m a super saiyan and I should be able to handle this. I press our lips together, my own eyes sliding closed. He gasps in surprise—I slip my tongue into his mouth, hand jumping to fist at the back of his head. I hold him steady against me, and what’s supposed to be a chaste, light peck turns into a passionate, fervent kiss—I lean our whole bodies together. I can still feel his heart racing from the fight, the warmth of his skin and the musk of sweat. He’s too startled to fight me—I claim his mouth with my tongue, exploring everywhere and touching everything. I tilt my head for a better angle—I want to taste everything. I trace the lines of his teeth and the roof of his mouth, pet his tongue and move our lips together.

When I pull back, his eyes are wide. His lips are a little swollen—I might’ve gone too hard. Mine are moist, but I don’t move to wipe them off. I open my mouth to say, ‘sorry,’ but it doesn’t come out.

He grins. I still power up and take off in less than the span of a heartbeat.


End file.
